


Mr. Sandman

by astudyinperiwinkle



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Duty Calls, Established Relationship, M/M, Rude Awakenings, Wandering Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinperiwinkle/pseuds/astudyinperiwinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late, Steve should be sleeping, but why waste the opportunity to enjoy a nice view and contemplate relationships?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Sandman

I almost never wake up before him. Once, I asked if he ever slept at all and he laughed. I rephrased it and asked if he just didn’t need as much sleep as Humans, and he made an overly ponderous expression and said it was mystery to be left unsolved. As far as lies go it was flimsy but I let him avoid the question for whatever reason he had. It didn’t even matter much to me. I was just curious and maybe a little tired of being woken up by him leaving or climbing on top of me because his libido didn’t care if I was up or not.

It was a little after two AM by the clock on the wall. The steady tick-tock was a comforting rhythm over the city sounds outside. The urge to stretch out crept into my bent legs but if I moved I feared he’d wake and I liked taking in the details of him without him distracting me. This was one of the few chances I got to just _look_ at him.

Loki was resting on his side facing me, hair dashed over the pillow and his face as if he’d free-fallen onto the bed. He hadn’t, I knew, and though we had really made a tangled mess of it earlier, he was just naturally a disorganized sleeper. He wasn’t violent or constantly moving, he just rolled over and curled up and spread out haphazardly, as if making up for his typically impenetrable poise.

The way his mouth was slightly parted, not enough to do anything he’d consider crude like drool or snore but enough to see his lips weren’t touching, was so damned mortal on him. Breathing was a silent action even in sleep, and the slow rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was still alive. Orange from the street lights outside painted his fair skin warmer, fell on the tight muscles of his arm and shoulder and neck and showcased the subtle tracks of tendons and veins.

By far I had more brawn but he was something more than Human, something more than his demi-god brother even, and physical attributes were only a portion of the strength he wielded. Without armor, in the absence of sharp taunts, laying peacefully instead of strutting around, he was so much less intimidating and that made him seem more dangerous.

For all his power and abilities, it was remarkably flattering that Loki felt comfortable sleeping next to me, willingly leaving himself vulnerable and unaware in my company. It took months of weekly visits, which gradually became more and more frequent and closer together, until he even hung around after the pillow talk. The first time he stayed until morning I’d thought for certain I was imagining it. It was a while before he did so again, and then once more soon after, officially cementing the new level of our relationship. By now it was more often than not I woke up next to him. It was very domestic and I liked the feeling.

So when our increasingly stable living situation was clearly established and my feelings were undeniable, I confessed I cared for him, just out and said it because I learned the value of not wasting time telling someone how you feel. I didn’t mind if he reciprocated or not; it just had to be said to get it off my chest. I figured he’d laugh at me, maybe mock me for being an emotional Human, but instead he acknowledged it, implied a vague sort of thank you, and spent the evening torturing me with his impressive mastery of tantric sex.

I didn’t wonder if he used his endless imagination in the bedroom to dominate me because I rarely rose to his verbal prodding. I was good enough with comebacks to keep up and knew when to hold my tongue in order to limit his ammo. In the bedroom, I definitely could match his stamina and energy but he never failed to get the upper hand. He would always be the stronger one of us, and I didn’t mind. He was a controlling partner but never selfish.

On cue to interrupt my wandering thoughts, an alert from SHIELD rang out from the bedside table. I rolled over quickly, as much to respond as to hide from Loki the fact I’d been watching him. The small screen displayed a short message, a request for immediate action. Apparently Doom couldn’t sleep tonight, either. I accepted the notice- I was on my way.

I glanced at Loki and he had rolled onto his back, a yawn hanging silent in his open mouth. He blinked at me before rolling to face away from me, blanket slipping and exposing the twin dimples of his lower back. “This time, it isn’t my doing.” He drawled sleepily.

The uniform was cold against my sleep warmed skin as I pulled it on hurriedly. “It’s Doctor Doom. Are you going to stay?”

“Obviously,” he said, unmoving. “It is not I who must rise up and save the city yet again from that inconsiderate dolt.”

Loki wasn’t much one for being woken prematurely, it seemed.

I shoved my feet into the boots and started for the door. “What, you two not buddy-buddy any more?”

“Not when he insists on making trouble in the middle of the night. If I am to be woken, I would rather it be for fun I can participate in, not so I am left behind to find reverie alone.”

I wanted to say he could always join us, or that last time he decided to have a hand in trouble-making, it was also after midnight, but I was distracted by the implication he didn’t like sleeping alone.

Instead, I said, “Well, I’ll make sure to tell him to wait until after breakfast next time.”

“Do.” He stressed the syllable and nuzzled deeper into the pillow.

 

 

Hours later, the sun nearly at the apex of its arc over the New York skyline, I staggered through the door, bruised and exhausted and dying for a shower. Tony had offered breakfast for the team and everyone refused except Bruce but he wasn’t exactly in a state to sit and eat politely yet. The vote had been unanimous: none of us were hungry, just tired.

I paused in the doorway to the bedroom, looking at a pile of sheets crumpled on an empty bed, and sighed. I really didn’t like sleeping alone very much either.


End file.
